


Tuna Salad Sandwiches

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Drabble, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dialogue prompt: "Let me do this for you".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuna Salad Sandwiches

Pete was struggling. Right now he was struggling to get the lid of a jar of pickles for the tuna salad he had insisted on making, mainly because it was the _only_ thing he knew how to make and Patrick had insisted they make lunch. But it wasn’t the pickle jar, Patrick knew, it was everything. A pickle jar wouldn’t have been making Pete bite his bottom lip so hard, wouldn’t be making him wrinkle his nose furiously against the sting of threatening tears.

Patrick set his chin and pushed himself up from the counter he’d been sitting on, reaching his arms around Pete from behind to gently cover the boy’s shaking hands with his own, pressing his lips against the back of his neck, hair tickling his noise. “Let me do this for you,” he whispered, warm and gentle like spring rain.

Pete shuddered involuntarily and passed the jar wordlessly as the first tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped at it hastily and Patrick pretended he was too transfixed in the task at hand to notice. “Your hands are smaller than mine.”

Patrick refrained from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but–” he opened the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife, slipping it under the kid and pulling back to release the vacuum seal “–my mom taught me this.”

“Your mom,” Pete mumbled weakly, but he gave a flicker of a smile when Patrick handed him the jar back, the lid twisting off easily under his hand. He grabbed a knife to cut the pickles and the younger boy watched the blade a little too intently to make sure it wasn’t getting too close to his skin. Pete had said that was only once but he would never get the image out of his head as long as he lived, Pete holding a red towel against his leg and screaming at Patrick to find him another one.

“We need plates,” Pete said pointedly, realizing the other boy was staring at him and bristling visibly.

It took a minute for Patrick to tear his eyes away from the knife even though it wasn’t moving anymore, just sitting underneath Pete’s hand on the cutting board. “Plates,” he echoed distantly, slowly crossing the kitchen to the cupboard. “Yeah. And drinks?”

“Soda in the fridge.” Pete waved his hand dismissively and pulled open the loaf of bread. “Do you want yours toasted?”

“Are you toasting yours?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

Pete gave some soft secret smile to himself at that and Patrick had to hide his own so he didn’t look like a love struck idiot when he set the plates and cans of Coke on the counter. The older boy had a butter knife in his hand now and was slathering his tuna salad creation thickly on four pieces of bread to give them each two sandwiches. Patrick nudged him with his shoulder. “You cooked.”

Pete blushed slightly, turning his head away. “I just boiled the eggs,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“You know what I mean.” Patrick said reaching across Pete for his plate, making sure his arm grazed against Pete’s for longer than necessary. “It’s good, Pete. You did good.” The last part was softer, almost under his breath. And Pete’s response was equally soft.

“Thank you.”

Their eyes met for a moment and they both smiled before going back to the living room to eat lunch and finish their movie.


End file.
